


The Firebird

by Vrazdova



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Character Death Fix, Character Study, F/M, Mythology - Freeform, Reunions, Self-Discovery, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrazdova/pseuds/Vrazdova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every time she dies, Rachel comes back a different person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Firebird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadcellredux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcellredux/gifts).



> Gurl. Your prompt.
> 
> _Rachel, Daryl, and Elayne: considering the fact that they're dead before we really get to know them, all of these women have some SERIOUSLY untapped potential as characters. I'd love to see some AU fic that focuses on one (or more!) of these ladies surviving, and what happens in the world around them as a result. Feel free to get creative; I'd really love to read anything about these ladies, but here are some ideas: Rachel survives the attack on Kohlingen, and with memory intact, leaves with Locke to join the Returners? Daryl and Setzer are still lovers/partners in crime and decide to kidnap Maria together (the undoubtably shady reason for this is up to you)? A look at life living in Doma-- perhaps Elayne's thoughts as a mother and wife (and honestly I'd love to see her as a warrior of sorts too) during such tense wartime--perhaps she survives the poisoning and joins Sabin alongside her husband, or maybe you'd like to write a slice of Doma life pre-poisoning with lots of politics/meta/what-have-you? Really, the possibilities are endless-- worldbuilding and meta are a plus, and I will love a scene built entirely from your imagination just as much as I will love a re-worked scene from canon._
> 
> So, I love EVERYTHING about this prompt, and I started thinking up a bunch of different ideas and trying to weave them all together before deciding to simplify things and focus only on Rachel. And then the fic got out of hand anyway. But umm, I just have an unhealthy love for all the minor/dead characters of FFVI. I'm holding onto the rest of this prompt for possible future fic ideas :3
> 
> *Note that this fic includes a bit of violence and sexual content - though I didn't feel it explicit enough to warrant a 'mature' rating - for anyone who cares.

The echoing _boom_ of a backfiring Magitek gun was just the cover she needed: Rachel slipped out of the khaki tent and into the wiry desert brush near the riverbank. She could hear the pilot cursing in pain, but her heart had long since hardened to soldiers’ voices. Such clunky, barbaric weaponry. The Gestahlian Empire knew nothing of elegance.

She pulled a small pipe from her satchel and loaded a feathered dart. Then she waited for the fool to arrive for his daily ritual at the water’s edge.

She had been watching the Imperial base camp at Doma for days, and she knew that Kefka was plotting something behind the backs of his superiors. The grunts didn’t trust him. General Leo was growing wary of his eccentricities. And yet he was suddenly and suspiciously left in charge of this entire regiment just as the battle with Doma had entered a stalemate.

Rachel would have to act before Kefka did.

She lowered the veil of her keffiyeh and put the pipe to her lips as he approached the river. As he’d done every other day at this time, he unloaded a bag of five canteens and appeared to fill them one by one. But before he could finish, Rachel sent the dart into the side of his neck with expert precision. Kefka slapped at the pinprick as though it were an insect, and unwittingly injected the needle deeper into his own skin.

His expression turned from perplexion to rage with terrifying haste. Still, Rachel leapt from her hiding spot and charged forward, dagger in hand.

To her horror, his reflexes were swift and efficient. He grabbed her by the collar and she quickly discovered that his appearance was entirely deceiving — he commanded brutal strength for a man of such small stature.

“And just who are you, young lady with the poison dart?” he asked with a sinister grin. With his free hand, he plucked the needle from his neck without so much as a wince.

Rachel’s mind raced as everything fell into place all at once. She caught a whiff of a vaguely familiar odor and she glanced down at the hand about her throat to see that something had recently spilled on Kefka’s sleeve. Then her eyes followed a glint of sunlight on his chest where she recognized the enchanted star-shaped amulet.

And then her fear, too, turned to anger. In a sudden flourish, she ripped the pendant from his neck and he immediately began to choke. Without its protection, the poison freshly injected into his muscles began to take effect. Now free but too shocked to complete her original mission, she grabbed one of the canteens on the ground and dashed away from the scene, leaving Kefka flailing and retching.

She twisted off the lid and wafted its contents’ fumes toward her nose to confirm her suspicions. Her eyes welled with tears, so furious she was with herself for not realizing sooner. Kefka had been secretly poisoning Doma’s water supply for days.

* * *

She had very little of the antidote on her — this weighed heavily on her mind as she and her two new cohorts raced toward Doma Castle. By chance or godsend, she had nearly collided with a great bear of a man who was quick to admit that he too had been spying on the base camp.

“Do you think it’ll really be that serious yet?” he asked with boyish concern.

“This poison is derived from a plant native only to the Southern Continent. Kefka must have imported it knowing that no one in Doma would have the antidote. I fear the worst.”

“Doma has called a retreat on its troops,” said their masked companion. “It may be due to illness rather than strategy.”

Rachel clenched her fists as she ran, nails digging into her palms till they hurt. Everywhere she went, propaganda purported that Emperor Gestahl was a kind and generous man, seeking only to bring prosperity to the ‘less fortunate’ corners of the world. Yet the soldiers under his command continued to commit atrocities wherever they went. Kohlingen, raided and pillaged. Maranda, burned to ash. And now Doma... How his Empire still found supporters when his crimes were so _obvious_ , she would never understand.

As far as Rachel was concerned, the world had long since gone mad.

“Step aside!” roared a voice suddenly. The band of three slowed their steps as a Doman soldier came charging toward them. “My sword thirsts for Imperial blood!”

“We’re not from the Empire!” called Rachel. “Quickly — what is the state within your walls? Have your people fallen ill?”

The man lowered his blade, but his chest heaved with rage, barely contained. “Word is spreading of a curse, but I believe it to be poison!”

“It’s true. I witnessed the acting commander of the Empire’s base camp contaminating your water supply. Let us enter your fortress; I am a medic and believe I can help.”

The soldier hesitated momentarily — eyeing the other two men with suspicion — but quickly relented.

As they burst through the gates, Rachel began shouting orders. “Send for your own medics; I need to speak with them. In the meantime, I have a very small supply of this antidote with me; only enough to treat two or three people. You must direct me to the ones who need it most.”

The Doman stopped in his tracks, sweat upon his brow. His expression faintly twisted as he considered this terrible responsibility. At last, he uttered, “To the King at once.”

Rachel felt a pang of guilt. It was unfair to force this man to play the Angel of Death. But the situation was desperate, and as a soldier it was his duty to serve his country as best he could. War was so often cruel in ways unimagined by those on the outside.

The King was in a dire state. The priests in attendance had barely the chance to step out of the way as Rachel flew to his bedside, scanning the bottles of potions and tinctures that had already been tried in vain. Her fingers nimbly dug through her own pack as she drilled the attendants with questions about his treatment.

“Stop using silver bark for anyone affected; inducing vomiting will only worsen their conditions. Do you have lionwood? Burn it as incense instead of mixing the powder into draught. Is this mortar clean? Get me a clean one immediately!”

The priests scattered. In the midst of the sudden chaos, Rachel existed entirely on another plane — hands working practically of their own accord, so familiar they were with the motions of healing that they remembered faster than her brain. She trusted the instincts of her fingertips as they felt the texture of a certain grain; she relied on her sense of smell to tell her when the solution was pure. _It was perfect, it was ready_ , her body told her. But then her mind doubted, grasping at the edges of her memory to recall the exact words of the recipe, to remember that page in her dusty textbook.

There was no time to second-guess. She brought the dish to the King’s lips, and he drank.

A breathless minute passed. The King’s cheeks flushed and his pulse quickened. Then at last he relaxed.

“A cloud... has been lifted,” he gasped. “The pain in my head is melting away.”

Rachel sank to the floor with relief as the sounds of joy and exaltation swelled all around her. She mopped the sweat from her face with the ends of her scarf and looked up to see the Doman soldier standing over her, hand extended. He lifted her to her feet.

“My lady, you have done what none of our healers could. Our Kingdom is forever indebted to you.”

She shook her head. “This is only the beginning. We’ll need to find more of the antidote and _quickly_ , if we’re to save the rest of your citizens.”

The burly man who’d accompanied them joined in, “I would bet anything there’s some back at the base camp. Kefka’s an idiot, but he can’t be _that_ reckless as to bring such a dangerous substance up here without a failsafe.”

“We have taken Imperial prisoners of war who are also ill,” said the Doman. “We can use them to barter for the antidote.”

“From what I observed, Kefka may have been acting without orders to do this...” Rachel mused. “If you send word to General Leo, the original commander of this regiment, he would have to order a relinquishment of the antidote. Leo, at least, seems to play by the rules.”

The Doman soldier hastened to relay this information to the other military commanders. Upon his return, he requested a private word with Rachel.

“I must ask something selfish,” he said, his expression grave. “My wife and son are also feverish and I fear the poison hath affected them too. I am beside myself in fear that the antidote will not arrive in time to save them. My lady said that there is just enough of the cure to heal perhaps two more people... would my dishonor be forgiven if I begged you to give it to them?” He nearly choked on his last words, and cast his eyes downward in shame.

Rachel felt her heart drop and shatter at her feet. Throughout her studies, she was reminded again and again not to let her emotions hinder her work. And over the past few years, she had seen countless terrible things — children caught in the crossfire of war, families torn apart, whole cities and towns rent asunder by massacre, disease and flame. Everywhere she traveled, she had to keep a cool head and a steady hand.

But this had somehow gotten too personal. She observed the old soldier, hardened by years of noble service, breaking down before her as he struggled to voice perhaps the only selfish request he’d ever made in his life. And she pitied him.

“Lead me to them,” she said.

* * *

They would live.

Elayne and Owain Garamonde lay in restful sleep as Rachel fanned a calming incense over them. Cyan held his wife’s hand, looking at once haggard and relieved and full of love for his family. After a long silence, he said softly, “You have done me a great and undeserved kindness. Please tell me your name so I that may thank you properly, though I know it could never be enough.”

Rachel hesitated. She had remained quiet during the round of introductions, as she hated the laud that others associated with her name when she healed. It was not worthy of praise. She was simply doing the only thing she knew how to do.

“Simurgh,” she said, recalling the bird of her favorite legends. Her father had called her that once, when she’d first shown promise in the field of medicine. It was a flattering name, but it carried an ominous weight as well. She could only hope to live up to it.

Cyan stood to address her. “Lady Simurgh, I know your departure is nigh. I must stay and tend to my family and country as they heal, but I vow to you — if any hardship comes your way, send word and I shall be at your side with haste.” He nodded toward Sabin and Shadow. “Ye are my brothers as well, for your aid to my people.”

“The Returners will keep in touch,” said Sabin, reaching to shake his hand. “We will pray for the recovery of Doma.”

* * *

In the crackling firelight, Rachel sat in meditative state. Her lips fluttered as she silently recited old knowledge gleaned from medical texts, over and over, willing it to remain easily accessible in her brain. Though her memory had returned from her fall in the mountains, It was no longer second nature to readily remember every detail, every symptom, every recipe. And when the Imperial Army had attacked Kohlingen, she’d learned very quickly how imperative it was to be able to recall the information with lightning speed.

It was a burden; every night she fell into sleep absolutely exhausted. But she couldn’t bear to let the disability of her mind prevent her from putting to practice all that she’d learned. And since she couldn’t carry her library on her back, she spent every evening in review.

“Simurgh...” said Sabin suddenly, breaking her reverie, “That’s the Northern Phoenix, right? The benevolent bird of healing.”

Rachel opened her eyes. “That’s correct.”

“And not your real name.” Sabin smiled. “But I won’t ask you to reveal your secrets. We all have a few.”

Rachel relaxed her posture and considered her new traveling companion. He was a strong man — adept at physical combat — yet he had a boyish personality; somehow innocent despite being a weapon in and of himself. The man called Shadow had left their party the day before, and Sabin seemed to dance on the edge of wanting to talk yet feeling out of place to with a quiet woman. She liked what she knew of Sabin so far. She wondered if she should open up a little more.

“How did you learn the legend of Simurgh?” she asked, and he immediately perked up.

“I trained as a monk under a master who was an expert of mythologies from all over the world. I’m sure I couldn’t remember them all as well as he did, but it rang a bell when you said the name.”

“You’re from Figaro, aren’t you?”

Sabin looked at her in surprise. “I am, originally. How did you know?”

“The way you pronounce certain words. Your accent isn’t very strong, though.”

“I’ve been away from home for a long time,” he confirmed, rubbing the back of his head absently. “That’s very observant of you.”

“I was once close with someone who was enamored with Figaro. He began to pick up Figarian speech patterns. I think he wished he lived in your country. Maybe he does, now... He never really did fit in at home.”

Sabin nodded. “And where is home?”

“Far North — but you already deduced that, didn’t you?” Rachel grinned, and she felt an invisible wall begin to crumble between them. It had been so very long since she’d connected with someone in this way. After four years of solitary travel, she’d nearly forgotten what it meant to have a friend.

“How is it that I’ve been all over the world and have never heard of the Returners?” she mused, poking at the fire.

“Their success lies in their stealth. I only just joined myself, but my brother has secretly held an important role in the rebellion for several years. It’s pretty much out in the open now but it would’ve spelled disaster for their efforts if he’d been exposed earlier.”

Rachel lowered her head. “I’m glad to have finally found a group worth supporting. It’s been so frustrating... everyone has either bought into the Emperor’s lies or they’re too scared or ambivalent to proactively fight against him. I feel like the world has been brainwashed. I was starting to lose hope of ever seeing change.”

She felt a burning in her stomach that crawled up her chest, her throat, that pricked at her ears and flushed her cheeks. She sensed that she was standing on the precipice of something massive, something overwhelming — and she wasn’t sure she would be able to withstand it. And then the tears came, and she wouldn’t have been able to explain it if she’d been asked; just that she hadn’t allowed herself to feel this much emotion — hope or sorrow or fear or passion — in such a long time that maybe it was her body telling her to feel _something, anything_ again. She sobbed into her hands as memories passed before her closed eyes: the vertigo-sensation of falling into darkness and the following haze in her mind that made her feel dumb and blind; the horror of her home invaded, neighbors slain, pain of near-death, crawling on wounded belly through dust and ash and darkness once again. Then came the real-world touch of Sabin’s gentle palm on her back and she was mercifully grounded. He said nothing, and she said nothing, but she hoped that the weight of her heart was conveyed in this one strange torrent of vulnerability, because she couldn’t bear to say anything more of it than —

“My world has been destroyed twice already. I can’t help but feel like it’s going to be ripped apart one more time.”

* * *

Narshe was bitterly cold for someone who’d spent most of her life at the edge of a desert. Rachel tightened the keffiyeh about her face — now protecting her from snow instead of sand. It was comforting to hide her identity, too; she liked to be seen as invisible and nameless as she felt in strange places.

She was grateful when they reached the Elder’s house and she could shake away some of the chill. Sabin introduced her to the company, where discussion was already underway. Then he related the news from Doma.

“Barbaric!” said the Elder. “But that had to have been a direct result of Doma collaborating with the Returners. Gestahl sees your group as a terrorist cell, sticking your noses where it doesn’t belong. I heard there was an assassination attempt on the acting commander at the time — could the poisoning not have been retaliation for that?”

With snow still dusting her shoulders, Rachel was at once hot with fury. “How is attempted genocide an appropriate response to anything? Are you seriously justifying what the Empire did to Doma?”

Sabin placed a hand on Rachel’s shoulder but did not interfere.

“Of course not!” chided the Elder. “But don’t you see — teasing the lion only invites his wrath! Narshe must remain neutral; it’s the only way to be safe.”

“You’re mad!” shouted Rachel, stepping out of Sabin’s reach. “You ignore what’s happening around the world and it will bring your destruction. Did you not hear what happened to the city of Kohlingen four years ago? They were neutral — _passive_ — and the Empire ravaged them! Gestahl saw their weakness and made target practice of its citizens. Do you want the same thing to happen here?”

“The lady speaks the truth, Elder,” said Edgar. “Narshe has something the Emperor wants very badly. Your mines are a source of wealth even _without_ the frozen Esper. This city is a major target for Gestahl’s conquests, I guarantee it.”

Just then, the door opened and two more people walked in. And for a second, Rachel’s heart stopped.

“Oh, are we discussing the possibility of the Empire attacking Narshe? Funny, _they’re bringing an army this way as we speak_.”

“Locke!” said Edgar, before Rachel could even react. “Where did you get ahold of this information?”

Locke raised a hand in preemptive defense. “I want you all to meet Celes. She is a former General of the Empi—”

“She’s one of Gestahl’s hounds!” cried Rachel, unable to restrain herself. “She led the charge against Maranda and burnt the city to the ground! Why is this woman here?” She instinctively reached for her dagger. Sabin stepped up behind her protectively.

“Wait!” said Locke, and their eyes met. Rachel wondered if he would recognize her by her voice alone. Her breath was hot beneath her veil. It was painful to hold his gaze.

“Celes has promised to join the Returners,” he continued, a pleading expression upon his face. “She’s fighting _with_ us, now!”

“She’s committed crimes against humanity!” Rachel retorted, barely containing her rage. “If you’d seen the state of Maranda — the _suffering_ of those people...!” She unsheathed her blade and Sabin squeezed her shoulder gently.

Locke persisted as the rest of the room remained in shocked silence. “No one here will lay a hand on Celes,” he said through gritted teeth. “I swore to protect her and I will not betray that promise.”

Rachel could no longer face him. She turned toward the back of the room, feeling nothing _but_ betrayed.

Celes then came forward. “You may believe me or not. I know I must work hard to earn your trust, but at least give me the chance to do so. You outnumber me greatly; take comfort in that fact if you must.”

“I was once a Soldier of the Empire, too,” offered a timid young woman standing near the fireplace: it was Terra, the magic-wielder. Sabin had told Rachel about her enslavement and how she’d been forced to use her gift for destruction.

“We must remember that the Emperor has many ways of influencing people against their innermost will...” said Edgar calmly. “Let us put our histories aside for the time being and focus on the present crisis. How long do you estimate we have before the Imperial Army reaches Narshe?”

“They were practically behind us,” said Celes. “They plan to circumvent the city and head straight for the Esper in the mines. We must act swiftly!”

* * *

“Well, well, well... if it isn’t the little _thief_ who stole my star pendant!” cackled Kefka. He closed in on Rachel menacingly, letting the grunts hold off the other Returners. “You caused quite a stir at Doma — I hear you’re an expert with poisons, hm? Wasn’t there a... teensy little _issue_ with poison back there? You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Rachel brandished her dagger, knowing full well that it would be useless in battle against this lunatic.

“Don’t act ignorant; it’s unbecoming,” she said, willing her voice to remain steady.

“Oho ho ho, I could say the same for you! Don’t you know that it looks _terribly suspicious_ for a mysterious foreigner to appear just as an entire city chokes on poison? And — _what’s that?_ — she’s the only one with a cure? Tsk tsk.” He wagged his finger. “Paints a bad picture of the Returners in the East; they’re a suspicious lot. I’d be wary of showing my face around there again!”

She spat at his feet. “A supply of the antidote at your own camp proves you guilty!”

“But did they find one? That’s a good question...” He practically danced in place with glee.

Rachel blanched. They hadn’t waited for the negotiations to go through before leaving Doma; they’d had to continue on towards Narshe as fast as possible. Could it be that the Domans never got their antidote? Nausea began to boil in her belly.

 _“I will cut out your serpent’s tongue,”_ came a sudden voice from behind, and Celes rushed to stand between Kefka and his victim. Her sword buzzed with magic; Rachel winced as a spark jumped from the blade.

“Oh, this is a treat; it truly is,” said Kefka, Cheshire-grin as wide as ever. “The turncoat Chere and the poison-taloned Firebird — fresh faces of the Returners. The two of you will single-handedly discredit everything the rebellion has ever done! I love it!” He clapped to articulate his delight.

Celes stood her ground. “Shall I remind you why I outranked you?” Rachel could see the space around her hands distorting, as though they emanated a magical heat.

“Please _do_!” Kefka crooned. There was nothing but madness in his eyes as he spread his arms in welcome.

Rachel shielded herself as Celes moved in for the attack, and a heavy blast quickly knocked her off her feet. But it was all over in an instant: when the flurry of snow and dirt settled, Kefka was gone and Celes was left cursing but relatively unharmed.

The frozen Esper still stood safely at the top of the path. The Returners had won this battle, but an unyielding sense of dread prevented Rachel from celebrating wholeheartedly with the rest of them.

* * *

She’d wanted to talk to Sabin first, but her friend wasn’t in his quarters. Rachel paced the darkened halls of Castle Figaro, trying desperately to calm her racing heart. Eventually, she went back to her own room and burned her soothing incense.

So much had happened so quickly, her mind was having trouble keeping up with it all. She hadn’t had a chance to practice her recitations since before Narshe — yet another thing that only served to heighten her anxiety further. After Kefka’s flamboyant departure, Terra had reacted to the frozen Esper and transformed into a fiery beast, flying uncontrollably off into the horizon like a meteorite. An intense meeting with the Elder of Narshe followed, and then the Returners rushed south to Figaro, riding chocobos to exhaustion until they were safely within the castle walls. There had been little opportunity for private conversation.

Rachel took a deep breath above the incense, trapping the smoke under her veil so that its scent would linger, and the buzzing in her head began to quiet. It was time to confront him.

She tapped lightly on the next door over. A moment later, Locke answered. She could see Celes sleeping on the bed beneath the window behind him.

“Oh... Simurgh?” he asked groggily.

Her heart fluttered hearing him pronounce it perfectly, with the subtle inflection the others couldn’t hear. She beckoned him into the hallway and stood under a dying torch.

“Locke...” she breathed, and every word she’d rehearsed vanished from the tip of her tongue. So she simply unwrapped her scarf to reveal to him the elegant curve of her nose, full lips, and a cascade of black curls that framed her soft, round face. “Do you recognize me?”

Locke was speechless at first, and she watched his chest begin to heave irregularly as he looked her over, disbelief saturating his expression.

“...Rachel?” he finally gasped, so softly she could barely hear it. “Is it... really you?”

She nodded, haltingly, unprepared for the wave of emotion that crashed through her body as he took her into his arms, forcing the breath from her lungs and clinging to her as though she would dissolve into the floor if he ever let go. He trembled violently as he wept into her hair, and she shed tears in return, basking in his scent and the heat of his body against hers — somehow more familiar than even the touch of her own clothing.

They parted so that they could see each other’s faces in this new light. She brought her hand to her mouth as she choked back a sob. He brushed his arm across his eyes to wipe the tears away.

“I wanted to tell you sooner, but I was — I was so shocked,” she said, her voice wavering. “And everything happened so fast —”

He shook his head and cradled her cheek. “No, no... Don’t...” He looked like he too was failing to grasp the perfect words he sought. “I just... thought... They’d told me you _died_!” he cried softly and faltered once again.

Rachel gently led him into her room and sat him on the edge of the bed. She dabbed at his cheeks with her scarf, then did the same for herself.

“I should never have left,” Locke continued shakily. “But your father... he wanted me gone, and I couldn’t bear to be such a burden anymore... When I heard about the raid I came back as fast as I could, but it was too late... The people I’d talked to said that you — you called out my name as you fell.” His shoulders shuddered.

“I’m sorry you’ve carried this burden. Please don’t feel guilty,” she said, finally finding her confidence. “I remember everything now. My memory came back just as the Imperial soldiers descended upon us. They killed everyone in their path — our neighbors and friends...” She paused to collect herself. “I was struck by a sword. The wound was very deep.” Her fingers went to her collar and she opened her blouse partway. “The shock made me lose consciousness at first.” A jagged scar ran nearly vertical from her neck all the way down to her navel. “When I came to, there was nothing but death all around me. There was no one to help. I crawled back to my house where my father’s body lay slain, and I was too weak to move him respectably.”

Locke bowed his head and ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

“I wanted to die along with him, but something kept me from giving in. So I cleaned myself the best I could and with the aid of a mirror, I dressed and stitched my own wound.”

Nearly doubled over, Locke covered his face with his hands and exhaled deeply.

“I rested only as long as I had to. No one ever came to check on us. The stench of death grew more and more foul in the house. I left as soon as I had any ounce of strength to spare. The city was ruined and I couldn’t bear to stay, so I just started walking. A courier later found me collapsed on the side of the road and brought me to a nearby village, where I was able to actually recover. Since then, I’ve been tracking the Empire in the hopes of getting revenge, but... what can one person really accomplish? I’ve been unsuccessful so far, and now I fear I’ve only brought misfortune to the Returners.”

Exhaustion suddenly washed over her, and she let herself fall back onto the mattress and close her eyes. She could feel Locke shifting his weight beside her.

“Celes told me what Kefka said to you back in Narshe,” he said carefully. “She believes he was just playing mind-games. Trying to break your resolve. Edgar has already sent word to Doma for an update. They’ve been on very good terms with us; I don’t think you have to worry.”

Rachel nodded. Against her will, more tears slid out from under her eyelids and down her temples, tickling her ears.

The question that lingered in the following silence threatened to smother them both.

_Now where do we go from here?_

She couldn’t bear to face it just yet.

“Let us both get some rest,” she said, and opened her eyes to see Locke still hunched over on the edge of the mattress. She sat up next to him. He appeared lost in thought.

“Yes,” he said finally, turning towards her. They both stood and embraced once more, savoring the familiar fit of their bodies so close together in a way that each never dreamed they would experience again. When they parted, the tears threatened to fall anew.

“I...” Locke began, but couldn’t or wouldn’t finish the thought aloud. Then he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek as he softly bade her good-night.

Rachel was left alone in her room as he rejoined Celes in the other.

She breathed deeply of the incense before ruefully crawling into bed.

* * *

The entire wing was deserted by the time she awoke. Rachel gathered her belongings, tying her scarf around her waist this time, and tried to remember the way back to the main courtyard. She encountered Sabin along the way.

“Ah, Simurgh! Locke told me I’d find you here.” He seemed to do a double-take at his first glimpse of her hair, but he refrained from commenting. Instead, he flashed his reassuring, boyish smile and gestured for her to follow. “Edgar wants to get the castle in motion, but everyone has to be accounted for first. Come on; it’s fascinating to watch!”

He led her to the courtyard and then down through a cellar door that brought them to the castle’s engine room. The others were all waiting for them, and as soon as she descended the stairs into their view she could feel the weight of their gazes upon her. She wondered how many of them knew her secret now. The thought made her stomach churn.

But she held her chin high. “I apologize for delaying you.”

“Not a problem, my lady,” said Edgar with a sweep of his cape. “Now, make yourself comfortable as we commence our journey to the Kajal Desert!”

Her eyes met Locke’s, and she saw the color drain from his face. It had been known that their party headed for Kohlingen — but in light of the previous night’s revelations, she suspected that he wasn’t quite ready to return to their hometown either.

* * *

“This is... the most surreal experience I’ve ever had.”

Rachel and Locke stood side-by-side in front of a small gravestone bearing Rachel’s name. They had excused themselves from the others to return to their old borough in privacy. The area was now largely abandoned, having never recovered from the Imperial raid. Buildings lay in ruin — crumbling stone, shattered glass, rotting wood. The streets were dusty and hot, and old bloodstains still visible in certain places.

“I feel as though I am actually a ghost. Rachel truly no longer exists.”

Locke took her hand, and she reciprocated by weaving her fingers through his. And they stood in silence for a long time there, in the middle of a haphazard graveyard that they had once known as an open field. The stones were hastily carved and inexpertly placed. It was likely that many of the names did not correspond to the skeletons beneath them. She wondered how many other ghosts had come to visit their own graves.

At last they turned to face each other.

“I’m so overwhelmed...” said Locke as he reached to smooth her windblown hair. “All this time, I’ve thought of you every day, and now...”

“Now it’s unbearably strange,” Rachel finished. “Being faced with the reality.”

He nodded faintly. “It feels more like you’ve risen from the dead than anything else. I can hardly process the fact that you’ve been alive this whole time.”

“I know... one heartache replaces another.”

“I want...” he began, hesitating. She waited for him to continue in his own time. “I want to hold you and kiss you and... pick up where we left off, but... at the same time, how is that possible?”

Rachel cast her eyes downward. She’d thought she’d used up all her tears the night before, but her body continued to betray her.

“It’s just not the same, is it?” she said with a tiny sob. “So much has changed... you’ve grown... I think you’d find I’m no longer the person you once knew...”

He pulled her closer into a firm embrace. She cried softly into his chest and he buried his face in her sun-warmed hair. They could have stayed this way for hours — she nearly wished they’d turn to stone, forever a monument to five miserable years of pain and longing and a release from ever having to feel so broken again. This moment could never be the joyous reunion she’d so often hoped for. And when they finally parted, every fiber of her body physically ached.

“Why does this feel like an ending?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them gently.

“It’s closure, but it’s not the end. You’re here. You’re _safe_ , and that makes me... _so happy_.” His eyes glistened as he spoke, the tip of his nose practically touching hers. She could feel his heart beating wildly as she rested her hands upon his chest. She let her eyelids fall and nodded.

“And now we must build this as a new relationship, whatever that may be,” Rachel said.

She sighed. It was time to leave their histories in the past — but even _sadness_ can become comfortable, and painful to relinquish. She’d spent so long living in uncertainty and transience — focusing anger towards the Empire, struggling to keep her damaged mind in working order, hoping for vengeance all while coaxing others away from death — it was somehow terrifying to be faced with the promise of something even remotely like _security_ or _friendship_. The scar on her torso reminded her that she could be self-sufficient. The throb in her heart told her it was okay to let someone else in.

After all, she had once been madly in love.

The sun was sinking lower and lower into the horizon. As they turned to head back, Rachel stopped.

“Locke...” she said, gathering her courage one last time. “Before we close this chapter...”

“Just once...” he breathed eagerly, and he moved in to meet her kiss. She savored the taste of his lips, the scent of his skin. Already she mourned this moment, knowing it could very well be the last of its kind — this lingering celebration of blissful ignorance, a dance on the edges of a fading dream — where they’d soon awaken and see that they no longer truly know each other. They’d led separate lives for too long; they would have different needs and desires, but for now — for this one final exaltation of a youthful romance — they could afford to bask in the memory.

Rachel let out a gasp as Locke’s lips moved to her neck, planting heady kisses under her earlobe, down her jawline, across her collarbone. She ran her fingers up and down his back, nails catching on the thin material of his shirt. Then she slipped her hands beneath the hem and pressed her palms against his hot flesh, feeling as though she could melt into it. She nuzzled his cheek and guided his mouth back to hers, nipping at his flushed lower lip before pushing her tongue against his. He slid his leg between her thighs.

They pulled back briefly in search of confirmation. His eyes were heavy-lidded, lips slightly parted. She could feel the blood boiling behind her cheeks and forehead. Mere seconds passed before she wrapped her arms around his neck and met him again in a clash of teeth and tongues.

His fingers danced at the sloping collar of her chemise. She could feel him exploring the top of her scar; the touch made her shiver. Flexing her fingers beneath his shirt, she dragged her nails down his back, causing him to exhale audibly. They pressed their hips together and felt each other’s temperatures rise.

They swayed to one side, groping for something to steady their balance. Locke’s back fell against a twisted tree trunk, where he threw off his jacket and Rachel untied her sashes. All at once, they couldn’t navigate their layers of clothing fast enough, as though an hourglass somewhere were threatening to spill its last ounces of sand and sweep them mercilessly apart in a desert flood. But then they achingly allowed themselves a pause to gaze at each other, half-exposed, marveling at all the new marks and scars that had since marred the clean canvases they once knew by heart.

Now lying in the dust and fallen leaves, Locke gently pulled her on top of him where they kissed again — long and sensual and _meaningful_ — and they caressed each other’s bodies as though they were holy relics. He traced the curve of her breast with his fingers, and then his lips, and then he rolled them both to their sides and placed reverent kisses all the way down the length of her scar as though to reiterate his love for the fact that she had _life_.

He looked up into her eyes, and she invited him in. She took his hands and placed them on her hips, and together they slid her skirts down from her waist.

The first touch of his fingers made her muscles twitch, but she willed herself to relax. She ran her nails through his hair, slipping off his bandana and bringing it to her lips as he nuzzled her inner thighs. He began by lightly massaging her with his thumb to watch her reaction above. Her head rolled back and she sighed deeply, encouraging him further with another sweep through his hair.

He kissed her mound before taking her into his mouth, suckling her most sensitive places and teasing with his tongue. She let out a soft moan and slightly arched her back at the sudden wave of wonderful sensations. As he progressed, he brought his hands to her thighs and rubbed them down slowly, and she couldn’t help but continue to voice her pleasure. The pressure in her bloodstream mounted further and further as the minutes passed, and she was just about to pull him up when she felt herself tip over the edge, sending a torrent of ecstasy crashing through her body. She gasped and panted as he drank her in — eager to taste every drop of her exhilaration — until she beckoned him back up.

Her face was flushed with afterglow as she sat him up against the tree and straddled his lap to kiss him. She stroked his glistening throat, pushed his sweaty hair away from his brow and pressed her lips to each corner of his languid smile. Then her hands cascaded down his chest and over his hips and came to focus on the buckle of his belt. Together they shifted until he was freed, and his expression turned wholly vulnerable as she wrapped her fingers around him.

He bowed his head into her breast. With one hand she caressed the back of his neck; the other slowly dictated his pleasure. He grazed his teeth upon her collarbone, writhing beneath her like a flower in bloom — and then she lowered herself upon him, delighting in every subtle twitch of his muscles. Their bodies undulated in unison — he, grasping her waist, she, cupping and raising his chin so that she could see his every facial feature throughout.

As she observed his encroaching exhaustion, she led him to the side and onto his back, where she splayed her fingers across his chest and began to move her body like a serpent. And she danced upon him, her torso a graceful wave, and they held each other’s gaze until he reached his breaking point. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips as he shuddered, his breaths heavy and carnal and satisfied.

And in the dying light they took one last kiss as old lovers, hungry and desperate to savor the taste of each other’s lips before they awakened from their reverie and returned to the mad world to which they now belonged. As at last they parted in finality, she marveled at the grotesque beauty of sharing this ecstasy amidst the ashes of their past.

“I will always love you,” he said, “even if we find that love no longer favors us.”

She nodded and silently bade the dream good-bye. “And I, you.”

* * *

The door opened and Sabin entered, shaking water from his cloak. The rain never seemed to stop falling in Zozo.

“I shouldn’t be surprised at how hard it was to find a reputable post office in this city,” he said, hurrying to warm himself in front of the fireplace. “All the birds looked sick... but I think I found one that would make it to Doma.”

Rachel smiled. To pass the time as they waited for the others to return, she and Sabin had written a long letter to the Garamondes. In the envelope, she’d included a thin bundle of her finest herbal tea for Cyan and his wife, and a sweet leaf for their son. She still harbored a sliver of anxiety over Kefka’s words back in Narshe, despite having received confirmation from Edgar that Doma was indeed on the mend.

She leaned over the bed where Terra slept and absently smoothed her wild hair. Given her profession, Rachel had volunteered to stay behind and keep watch over the girl while Locke and Edgar accompanied Celes to the Imperial capital. Sabin remained as well to keep them both safe. And while he was certainly pleasant company, they were approaching a week since the others had left, and both Rachel and Sabin were growing weary of this miserable, rainy city.

“Should I feel guilty that I keep getting thoughts of resentment?” she wondered aloud as Sabin joined her by Terra’s bedside. “It’s... I’m finding it difficult to be a part of a team again. I know Terra must be looked after, and I’m happy to do so, but... there’s something different about it now that I’m no longer completely independent. I’ve grown so used to following my own path and simply giving where I can. Now I must follow the rules, so to speak, in order to mesh with the Returners. There was something... _invigorating_ about living in disorder, inefficient though it was.”

Sabin looked off to the side thoughtfully before responding. “I think I can understand... When I first began my training as a monk, we spent a great deal of time focusing on the giving up of selfish thoughts and desires. I thought it was strange — how was that relevant to learning how to fight? But it was about gaining the ability to do whatever it took to achieve a goal, including sacrificing everything you hold dear for the greater good. It was very difficult... and humbling, once I finally came to understand it.”

He turned to Rachel. “What I mean is... it’s perfectly human to feel that way. It took _me_ years of ascetic training to be able to let go of those kinds of feelings.”

“Are you better for it?”

“It’s not for everyone,” he grinned. “And I won’t pretend I’m a master. Ten years of training is only a fraction of the time it takes to reach enlightenment.”

She sat back in her chair and sighed, wrestling with her thoughts. Sabin commanded such quiet wisdom; it was a marvel considering his outward appearance. His brother was flashy and charismatic — she wondered if Sabin ever felt lost in his shadow, or if he was happy to let Edgar take the spotlight. Was that something he’d had to train for as well?

“May I ask you a personal question?” she said at last, and Sabin agreed without hesitation. She took a steadying breath. “You and Edgar... have followed very different paths in life. Yet you seem so close despite... only having reunited somewhat recently, I presume? You said you’d been away from home for a long time. How... how does one pick up such an intimate relationship where you’d left off? Is it truly possible?”

Sabin stood up and ambled closer to the fire once again. In its flickering light, his expression was difficult to read.

“I love my brother — he’s my twin, in fact. We were inseparable as kids, though we always had very different personalities. When we were in our teenaged years, it had been our father’s dying wish for us both to rule Figaro in tandem. But I got cold feet, to say the least. I was never interested in the subtleties of politics anyway, but I was just... so _angry_ that all anyone could talk about was the succession of the throne, and not our father’s memory. My brother saw this in me, and...” He turned so that Rachel could no longer see his face. “He released me from my duty. He took the entire responsibility upon himself, and said I was free to go wherever in the world I wanted. At seventeen, he’d already mastered that ability to be completely selfless under the weight of hardship. And so I sought out someone to teach me the same.”

“I didn’t see him for ten years,” Sabin continued. “It was only a few months ago that we reunited, and — I was overjoyed to see him at last! But it was bittersweet after all. My memory of him was so far removed from the person he’d become, it was... shocking, really. You get so used to holding on to the _idea_ of a person that when you’re faced with the reality — no matter how much more wonderful it may be — it shatters a big part of your world. You question so many things about your life from that time in between; it’s like you can’t even trust yourself anymore. For the first few weeks that we traveled together, I have to admit... I faked most of my happiness. It’s _not_ the same when someone you were once close with is suddenly back in your life after a long time apart.”

Rachel nodded, her heart heavy. Yet she felt a sense of relief at the knowledge that she wasn’t going mad. It was as she’d expected from the moment she saw him in Narshe: her once-blissful relationship with Locke was over. All she could hope for was that something better could rise from its ashes.

* * *

When the others finally returned, there was someone else in Celes’ place. He was an airship pilot, and he’d agreed to bring them all back to Narshe. Terra had awakened by the power of her Esper father’s Magicite, and the Returners now buzzed with excitement and apprehension at the prospect of wielding magic themselves.

Rachel cradled the green-tinted crystal in her hands — Seraph was her name, Locke had said. Someone had sold it to him as a relic when they’d stopped in Tzen on their way back to Zozo. She would teach them healing spells. The thought of being able to cure an illness or close a wound without medicine or bandages — it nearly made Rachel dizzy trying to comprehend it. No wonder there were some who worshiped the Seraph as a guardian angel — she was well-known in certain parts of the Southern Continent. They could also learn healing magic from the Esper Kirin, whose name Rachel had heard readily in the East as a bringer of serenity. So these legends and myths from around the world were in fact Espers who had once walked among the humans... She wondered if her beloved Simurgh was actually an Esper, too.

The Magicite was warm to the touch. She was eager to learn the Seraph’s spells, but she had promised Sabin they would practice together later. He was more attuned to the kind of spiritual discipline that magic required, anyhow, so she was content to be patient.

Instead, she turned her attention to Locke. Aside from entrusting her with the Seraph’s Magicite, he had said hardly a word to her since their party’s reunion. And when he did speak, his eyes would focus on something just beyond her own. She found him sitting alone in a small conference room below the deck of the airship, and she quietly closed the door.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” she said as gently as she could muster. “Where is Celes?”

He didn’t turn away from the window. “She left with Kefka at the Magitek Research Facility.”

Rachel inhaled deeply as she attempted to deconstruct his words. His penchant for drama was always a double-sided coin. “Tell me what _actually_ happened; not your interpretation of it.”

Locke rested his cheekbone on his fist. He looked absolutely miserable.

“When we reached the room where they were holding the Espers, a man — the head researcher, I think — suggested that Celes had been working as a double agent all this time, as though he’d _expected_ it. Shortly afterward, Kefka accosted us and said the same thing; that he was pleased she’d successfully lured us into his trap by bringing us into the heart of the Empire. He told her to collect the Magicite we had just acquired.”

“And clearly she didn’t.”

He hesitated. “No. She cast a spell and the two of them disappeared.”

“But you’d doubted her,” Rachel conjectured, walking directly into his line of sight. She hated when he conspicuously avoided eye contact. “And now you feel guilty, because her final impression of you was in a moment of distrust.”

“The worst part is that I’m still not sure!” he said, finally meeting her gaze. “What if it’s all been an act? What if she’s still acting?”

“Locke, when the two of you arrived in Narshe, you were the _only_ one in the room who trusted her. You vehemently defended her when I challenged her presence. What has weakened your will?”

“Do _you_ trust her?”

“Are you just seeking my approval?”

She could see that her words had stung. For a moment he looked betrayed, and then ashamed. He turned away from her once more.

Rachel lightly touched his chin and guided his gaze back toward her. “I know Celes is important to you. Please don’t let my presence get in the way of that. I truly want you to be happy with whomever is a part of your life; it’s just —” She sighed. “It’s frustrating feeling like I’m the one ruining everything for you.”

“That’s not how it is —”

“I know it’s not your intent. But you know you wouldn’t be acting this way if I had never joined the Returners. You’ve been tiptoeing around the both of us. It doesn’t have to be a competition. It _shouldn’t_ be.”

He stayed silent for a while. She let her hand fall, but didn’t move from her spot.

“You were always the logical one,” he said and laughed softly.

“And you were the expert at following your heart. Don’t second-guess your instincts; it will only cripple you.”

He placed his hands on her hips and looked up at her earnestly. “I meant it when I said I’ll always love you.”

Rachel bent forward to kiss the top of his head. “Then love me as a friend. And give Celes the respect she deserves. I promise to do the same.”

* * *

The fury of the Espers had been terrifying. Great creatures — giants and dragons and beasts with sharp talons and horns — had spewed forth from the Sealed Gate with such force that none could hold their footing. The air had been thick with magic and rage. It had seemed like they would bring the world to destruction.

But they had focused their wrath towards Vector, and as the Returners marched through the city, Rachel couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction.

_Here is your Kohlingen. Here is your Maranda. At last you’ve had a taste of their suffering._

She trembled with anticipation as she took her seat in the banquet hall. When the Emperor Gestahl entered, she visually scanned his armor for weakness. How she still desired to put her dagger to his throat. They had been allowed to keep their weapons, but there were so many Imperial soldiers on guard that she knew it’d be a bloodbath if anyone so much as reached for a blade. She kept her hands folded in her lap.

Cyan had joined them for the meeting — a supposed peace talk with the newly-humbled Emperor. Their eyes met briefly as the first course was served; though the others ate readily, Cyan and Rachel took precaution with each tiny bite. She couldn’t taste or smell any poisons, but remained suspicious nevertheless. Before their arrival in the Capital, she had filled her pack with as many different antidotes as she’d had time to collect.

“At last, we can all sit together as friends, sharing this meal at one table. Let us make a toast! To our homelands!” proclaimed the Emperor, raising his glass. The room murmured in cautious agreement.

Edgar spearheaded the Returners’ end of the discussion as it went underway. Gestahl was as charismatic as could be throughout the evening, answering every question without hesitation and expressing sympathies for their hardships. He apologized to Cyan directly. He lauded Celes’ early questioning of the war efforts. He presented himself as a wholly changed man.

Rachel didn’t believe him. She hoped the others didn’t, either.

“If I may speak,” she said at last, standing as the discussions seemed to be winding down.

“By all means.” Gestahl opened his palm toward her.

“What about reparations for the cities who’ve suffered by your military’s hand? It is not enough to simply end the war — there must be reconciliation for the damage done. Thousands have been left homeless in Maranda; even more rendered unable to work due to disability caused by the fires. The entire population of Doma has been weakened from the effects of the poison... Parts of Kohlingen still lay in disrepair, four years after a senseless attack. Does the Empire pledge to lend their aid for recovery?”

The Emperor gave her an infuriatingly patronizing smile. “My dear, we are all currently licking our wounds. As you no doubt have seen, my own people currently suffer after being the target of the Espers’ violence. We would most certainly send aid... but we must first recoup at home before we could be of any real help to foreign lands.”

“We would look forward to that day,” said Edgar graciously, nodding to the both of them.

Rachel sat back down, quietly seething. This was all a charade, and it was torment to feign niceties with this monster of a man. She knew as soon as they left he would surely stab them all in the back. The game of politics was maddening. She envied the endless patience of the Figaro brothers — it had brought them success where she had previously failed before joining the Returners. She knew she’d have to learn to control herself lest Kefka’s words ring true and she indeed be responsible for their failure.

“Now, if I may be so bold as to ask a favor of you all...” began Gestahl’s ominous request.

* * *

Her first successful Cure spell was exhilarating. Soft green sparks danced at her fingertips and her vision was filled with light. Her entire body trembled with electricity; goosebumps formed on her arms. She took a deep breath.

“Go on,” nudged Terra.

Rachel focused the energy outwards and her fingers suddenly turned icy cold. The young girl winced as the spell cascaded onto her burned forearm. When the aura dimmed, the red mark on her skin had faded to a healthier shade of pink.

“How does that feel?” Rachel asked anxiously.

“Pretty good,” said the girl, rubbing the quickly-healing wound. “Thanks.” And she ran to her grandfather’s side.

So that was magic... it was so simple after all. There was nothing to memorize, no recipes to follow, no leaves or grains or tinctures to recall. It was all in the soul; it coursed through the veins. She could heal without worrying about the lag in her brain. She nearly cried in joy. At last — a precious gift that brought meaning to her life, which nothing and no-one could take away from her.

“That was wonderful, Simurgh,” Terra said, beaming. “Quite powerful for a first-level spell. You have a natural talent.”

Rachel smiled back. She ran her thumb over the warm Magicite crystal in her pocket and felt a sudden sense of longing wash over her. She was beginning to understand how a taste of this power could lead to fanaticism. Already she wanted _more_ — more spells, stronger spells, the endless force of will it would take to learn and practice and cast them all... But at what point did this desire become the very threat that had caused the war?

She hoped, once their mission to Crescent Island was complete, that she could discuss these thoughts with Sabin. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust herself — no; she _yearned_ to use this magic to build, not destroy. But still she feared the potential loss of control in the face of such reward. It seemed to consume others so easily.

* * *

Rachel waited at a polite distance as Celes and Terra paid their respects to the fresh grave of General Leo. He had fallen defending them from Kefka’s ambush of Thamasa with Magitek armor in tow, proving once and for all that the Empire indeed had no intention of upholding the peace they’d promised at the banquet. She could hear Terra weeping softly. Celes hesitantly put a hand upon her back.

“The Emperor’s made a bold statement this time. I guess it’s finally time to move in.” Rachel turned to find Locke approaching. “But we still don’t have nearly enough active supporters to take on their military.”

“I don’t think Gestahl has much use for his troops anymore,” said Rachel. “This is going to come down to a personal battle.”

Uncertainty was painted all over Locke’s face. “Kefka hardly lifted a finger and _destroyed_ Leo — one of the Empire’s own best soldiers and magic-users. Is our team really strong enough?”

“Wouldn’t you rather die with a sword in your chest than in your back?”

He laughed nervously. “I’d rather not die at all.”

“I’d rather you didn’t either. The pain is unimaginable.”

She immediately regretted her words. He had obviously been looking for comfort in light of a terrifying inevitability, and she’d had nothing to offer but bitter realities.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I... didn’t mean to be so harsh. I guess it’s just how I look at things anymore. But I know that’s not helpful for everyone.”

He shrugged and flashed her a sad smile. “I suppose I should take comfort knowing I’ll be under your protection. You’re the best healer anyone’s ever seen.”

“Well... I can’t yet bring others back to life. So I’ll do my best to keep everyone safe,” she said, her gaze shifting back toward the funeral. “I won’t rest until we win.”

* * *

_That night, she dreamt that a giant bird with multi-colored plumage descended from the sky and took them all into its wings. They had challenged a fallen god to battle — a fearsome grey angel who towered over the freedom fighters — but under the bird’s protection, he couldn’t touch them. Its feathers deflected the god’s every attack, and he screamed in rage. She looked him fiercely in the eye._

_And then she_ was _the bird — the warmth that radiated about them was her own — and she bade her friends pluck a feather each from the tips of her wings to keep as a charm. With the aid of her strength, they were able to conquer their foe, and their bodies and spirits remained hale even at the end of the battle._

_As they celebrated their victory, she felt herself growing weary. No one paid her any mind as she folded her wings and laid herself to rest. As her eyelids closed, she saw a flickering light... her nest was made of fire..._

* * *

It was difficult to communicate over the roar of wind atop the Floating Continent. Rachel carefully distributed a thin yellow leaf to each of her companions, praying that they wouldn’t all tear out of her hand before anyone was able to make use of them.

“Hold this under your tongue for as long as you can; it will reduce nausea and lightheadedness from the altitude,” she shouted, and placed one in her own mouth. She wished she’d had the time to learn more spells before things had come to this. She could only hope she’d be strong enough to support the others as they faced the Empire’s madness one last time.

The Returners trudged over the rocky terrain, pausing several times to consider a deep rumbling sound that penetrated the wind’s howling. And then as they rounded a tight path, the ground dropped sharply into what looked like a crude arena — where at the bottom waited a draconic creature so massive they could barely believe their eyes. Waves of blue flame came pouring from its mouth as it welcomed them with a terrible roar. For a moment, everyone froze in their tracks.

Sabin was the first to make a move. He nodded to his brother, and Cyan also stepped forward in silent resolution.

“The rest of you continue on towards Gestahl!” Sabin called, and Rachel nearly cried out in protest. “We’ll take care of this ugly brute. Go on!” He gave her a wink before diving in.

Already her confidence wavered. How could she take care of everyone if they split up? She knew that Sabin, at least, had practiced Cure spells too — she would have to trust that they could handle it themselves. But watching him and Cyan and Edgar charge directly toward this hellish monster made her stomach drop to her feet.

They had to move on, and quickly.

But what awaited _them_ at the center of this labyrinth?

If she’d actually expected to face a wicked, godlike creature, she was blessedly disappointed. The gods here were made of stone, and the familiar forms of Gestahl and Kefka stood before them, basking in their radiant power. The winds ominously stilled as they approached.

“Oh how wonderful; the cattle have queued up for the slaughter of their own accord,” rasped the Emperor. He looked older and more grotesque than ever.

“Stop this madness at once, Gestahl!” said Celes, her voice brimming with militant authority.

He laughed and placed an arm around Kefka, nudging him forward like a proud father. “My dear Celes, you alone are special. Why don’t I task you and Kefka with creating progeny to populate my new Magitek Empire?”

Rachel cursed herself for not finishing her deed back in Doma when she’d had the chance. What despicable creatures these men were! And now she was helpless in the face of the power they commanded.

Kefka approached Celes and presented her the handle of a blade. “Take this sword, love,” he breathed into her ear. “Kill them all, and your treachery will be forgiven!”

Before she could even think, Rachel’s body began to tingle. A spark of heat raced from the top of her spine down through her feet as she sent a Haste spell in Celes’ direction. It surged through the ground and found its target, its aura unnoticed amidst all the other magic that saturated the atmosphere. Celes gripped the hilt, eyes flitting back toward Rachel for a split-second before she made her strike —

In an instant Kefka was doubled over, and the blade she withdrew was drenched in his blood. He sputtered unspeakable insults as he stumbled backwards, writhing and retching like a dying animal. Rachel held her breath, wondering who would make the next move, and then — Kefka began to _laugh_. His cruel cackle rang out as he faltered toward the Warring Triad and placed his hands upon the Goddess’ hips. He made a scene of caressing her legs as electricity snaked over his form.

Rachel looked toward Locke and Terra as though for an explanation, but they stood just as frozen and horrified as she. Even Gestahl appeared to have been momentarily stunned into silence by this unexpected turn of events.

“My Goddess, ah... a _proper_ woman; one who won’t betray me,” said Kefka, circling around the stone deity with his arm around her waist. He placed a kiss on her thigh. “Care to dance?”

And with a grunt, he heaved her out of formation. The energy among the once-balanced triad instantly escalated into chaos, and an explosion of lightning threw everyone to the ground.

“Kefka! Are you mad?” cried Gestahl, pulling himself upright.

Kefka roared with laughter as a white-hot bolt struck a rock near the Emperor’s feet. “Mad...? Oh, this is my most brilliant move yet, I’d say! These gods exist solely to fight — why not restore them to their former glory?”

“They’ll destroy the very world we wish to rule! What’s the value in that?”

Gestahl made a motion to cast a spell, but another bolt came crashing down before him. And then Kefka descended upon his Emperor, directing the gods’ wrath into fatal beams of energy that stopped the old man’s heart and ended his unholy reign in a single blow. With one last gleeful sound to punctuate his victory, Kefka unceremoniously kicked Gestahl’s lifeless body over the edge. Then he turned to face the Returners.

_“Who’s next?”_

It had been four years. Four long years since she had dragged herself from a field of corpses and sewn her broken body back together — four years since the men of this Empire had tried their best to end her existence. Rachel glared at Kefka — this hideous, painted man with an inhuman lust for destruction — and she refused to believe that it would all end like this. Four years of honing her craft and thirsting for vengeance. And she wasn’t alone in her rage; each and every one of those standing on the Floating Continent today had been burned by the Empire. Even more of their brothers and sisters in war relied on them — even unknowingly — on the ground below.

She had no great plan to defeat Kefka after all. But it couldn’t end like this.

All of a sudden, there was a loud _crack_ and the land beneath their feet began to tremble. The gods continued to send out beams of pure energy, and it was causing the Floating Continent to crumble. The rocks lining the edges started to cascade back towards the earth. Massive holes opened up all around them. As everyone began to scramble, Rachel looked back at Kefka to see that any ounce of sanity he may have been holding onto had since vanished. He laughed endlessly, even as he lost his footing — even as the stone gods toppled over and trapped him.

As they all fled, Rachel’s mind became a blur. It was a barrage of thunder and crashing and flashes of light, desperate groping for a familiar hand, blind faith in a leap off the edge and a painful landing back onto the wooden deck of the airship —

And then that, too, was torn apart.

Rachel saw the floorboards splinter beneath Locke’s feet. The wound opened and separated and he only just managed to catch the jagged edges before he could fall — Rachel screamed his name and tried to stumble toward him, but a firm hand grabbed her back as her end of the airship started to tip. She watched helplessly as he clung on for dear life and Celes dove in after him. Celes floundered; neither had much to hold on to and the flying debris threatened to knock them apart. And then the chaos swallowed them both. Locke fell from the ship, Celes tumbling into the abyss shortly thereafter. Horrified beyond belief, Rachel hadn’t even the voice to call after them.

Her body went limp, but Sabin held her fast. The last thing she remembered was the strong cradle of his arm before she was swallowed by darkness.

* * *

Rachel awoke gasping and drenched in sweat. Her heaving breaths echoed back to her ears so that even surrounded by blackness she could tell that she lay in a cavern. The only other sounds she heard were a faint skittering of vermin, and the rhythmic _drip... drip... drip..._ of something liquid in the distance. She prayed it was water. The air was brutally hot and her throat was so dry it threatened to close in on itself.

As she moved to sit up, a sharp pain shot from her leg all the way to the base of her skull and she cried out, voice bouncing madly around the room. She paused to let her eyes adjust to the dim light that glowed from beyond a jagged wall of rocks along the floor. Pulling up her skirt, she found a grisly sight — her left leg twisted unnaturally below the knee, and her foot was so darkened by blood and bruise that for a moment she thought it was gone entirely.

She cursed aloud. She couldn’t move her ankle or toes and the pain now reached an unfortunately familiar level of severity. Her tibula was badly fractured and her foot completely crushed. The latter, at least, would never heal properly — not if she couldn’t find her way out of this cave and to civilization quickly. And she held little hope of that happening.

Her hands trembled as she attempted to summon a Cura spell, but the effect was insufficient; the injuries were too severe. So she set to work relying on her old medical knowledge in the hopes of saving herself once again.

She tore her skirt into strips and wrapped her foot and ankle tightly. Then, pulling herself across the floor, she tied another fabric-rope around a nearby stalagmite and secured the bottom of her leg. Having no anaesthetics on hand that wouldn’t render her mind useless, she took a deep breath and placed the leather strap of her satchel between her teeth.

With her good leg, she kicked away from the rock with as much force as she could muster, and beneath her muffled scream she heard the bone in her leg crack back into place. She knew she had only damaged her foot further, but she had no hope of saving it at this point; best to cut her losses and fix what she could.

She nearly fainted from the pain. Her wails of agony reverberated around the cavern until she was too exhausted to cry anymore. At last, absolutely numb, her mind drifted as she stared into the crackling ceiling.

_I must have fallen from above and the roof closed in over me. Another fall... My third death..._

The heat was beginning to make her feel delirious.

_Why do I keep coming back?_

She rolled to the side and felt a prickling like a hundred tiny knives jabbing into her arm. Haltingly, she pulled her torso up and away from the floor and squinted at the debris that surrounded her. It looked like shattered glass.

In what little light she had, she was able to find a few larger pieces. A crystal shard with a red heart stood out from the rest; she brought it closer to her face.

_Magicite..._

She searched the folds of her clothing and found the Seraph’s crystal intact. Where had this other Magicite come from? And who was it?

Rachel slid back to the floor and wept. The Esper must have saved her — _one she didn’t even know_ — and she didn’t understand it; she was _angry_. What made her life more valuable than its own? This ancient creature, undoubtedly full of beauty and grace and teeming with unfathomable power — now lay broken and scattered about her twisted, wretched body. She didn’t deserve it. She couldn’t bear to think she ever would.

As she lay there, the memory of seeing Locke slip off the airship into a sea of nothingness suddenly overwhelmed her. She may be crippled and lost in a hellish cavern, but she knew she was _alive_ — and that was more than she could say for him. At last she understood the horror of witnessing the other fall, and the sickening churn in her stomach as she wondered whether or not he’d somehow survived. Not to mention the fates of all their other friends. It was nearly too much to bear.

Perhaps it was the insufferable heat messing with her head, but a movement of shadows just then caught the corner of her eye. She gingerly sat up, untied the cloths that bound her to the stalagmite, and then hobbled to stand on her one good leg, arrows of pain shooting through her nerves with every movement. There was something beyond the wall of rocks. She protectively clutched the unknown Magicite shard to her chest.

As she shuffled closer, the ambient light grew stronger — and so did the heat. After much effort, she reached the ridge to find a pool of liquid fire boiling steadily before her. She watched it undulate, mesmerized, nearly forgetting the agonizing pain in her leg. In all her life she had never seen anything like it before. It was at once terrifying and beautiful.

A bubble near the rim burst and it splashed her hand. She winced out of instinct, but found that — unlike seemingly _everything_ anymore — it didn’t harm her. The thick liquid instantly cooled upon her skin and turned black, like ash.

Emboldened, she reached out to the pool and let it flow over her fingers. It was still hot — unimaginably so — but when she rubbed at her blackened skin she found that the soot fell away and underneath — _underneath was a miracle_. The wounds on her knuckles had closed up. Her broken nails were restored. She dipped her hand in as far as she could reach and quickly found her sprained wrist unswollen.

She prayed she wasn’t just imagining things — but then, if this were actually a dying hallucination, she figured she might as well end things while it remained pleasant. Trembling, she struggled to pull herself over the rocks, fighting through the excruciating torture of every scrape of her leg against the stone. She had one fleeting second to regret her decision before her weight toppled her over into the molten liquid.

It burned — _oh, she didn’t think she could survive the heat!_ The fire seeped into her mouth and up her nose and she gagged as it dragged her under. Suffocating, she clawed her way back to the surface where the air suddenly felt as cool as Spring. She coughed and took a deep breath and rubbed the ash from her eyes.

Her clothing had burned away; she moved to brush off her chest. As her fingers slid over the curves of her torso, they missed the familiar ridges of her scar.

It was impossible. It _couldn’t_ be real. But then she stepped out of the pool and felt no pain as she balanced on both legs.

She wanted to laugh, but it came out a sob — a staggering exaltation, a broken psalm in praise of whomever or whatever had given her this unearthly gift! She wasn’t simply alive — she was _reborn_. The new life that coursed through her veins was so thrilling she nearly felt as though she could fly.

She couldn’t hope to understand it. And for the first time in a life of inexplicable splendors, she finally vowed to stop questioning it. She had been given something invaluable. All she could do was make use of it wisely.

Her soul refreshed — her willpower renewed — Rachel took her first steps forward as a changed woman. Despite all the madness and destruction she’d witnessed over the years, _something_ had worked fervidly to show her that the world was still worth believing in; that there was hope in the power of healing — not in _war_ , not in _anger_ , not in _vengeance_ — that was not her specialty.

She had a vision of her beloved Simurgh flapping her wings and bringing life to those around her.

 _I think I’ll keep the name,_ she thought with a smile. _If only as a symbol of dedication to sharing the love she gave me._

And she had never felt such happiness as she did in that moment.

Baptized in flame, risen from ash — Rachel set forth, the Firebird of legend, determined to show the world how to live again.

**Author's Note:**

> *Cyan doesn't use his familiar in-game "thee/thou" form of speech because when said pronouns were in common use, they were an informal manner of address. Being that he immediately feels indebted to Rachel (whereas in the game he comes upon Sabin on more equal ground), he would've opted to use the formal "ye/you" pronouns to show respect. Unfortunately the effect is pretty much lost in a world where no one else apparently uses these linguistic distinctions (and/or because in modern English there are no formal pronouns so it's not necessarily obvious to the reader), but oh well.
> 
> *[The Simurgh](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simurgh) is the name for the phoenix in Persian culture.


End file.
